


The Times' Tidings

by oudeteron



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Backstory, Easter Egg Zero, M/M, Pre-Canon, The Boss as a phenomenon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oudeteron/pseuds/oudeteron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Boss has vanished from Jack's life for the first time. Not content to watch from the sidelines, Python finds out that making someone feel better is a trickier quest than it might seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Times' Tidings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend's prompt as part of the [Secret Santa 2010](http://mgs-fanworks.livejournal.com/49032.html) exchange. Archived for posterity.

It was common knowledge that Python – as he only thought of himself now – was not one to be disturbed easily even in the direst of circumstances. There had been plenty of times when, even as others drew back in barely suppressed panic, Python went on as if nothing at all was wrong, deflecting danger by his composure alone. There weren't many to match this ability of his, let alone among soldiers of his age. Better yet, returning to the barracks on a perfectly ordinary June day of 1959, he had little reason to expect anything out of left field to come his way. At least he had none until he entered the room he shared with the one person he knew could rival his own nonchalance.

Usually.

Tonight he found Jack sitting on the lower part of their bunk bed, head resting in his hands. At first he seemed to be motionless but upon closer inspection, Python could make out strange tremors he couldn't recall having ever seen.

“Hey,” he ventured, kicking his boots to the side of the bed – out of the way. Jack gave a sort of hum in response but no acknowledgement beyond that, as though desperately trying not to betray himself.

It took a lot to unsettle Python, but this was slowly getting there.

He sat down next to Jack, only to bump his foot into what turned out to be a half-empty bottle of liquor on the floor. It had never been capped again; now it tipped over, spilling the remainder of its contents by Jack's boots.

“The hell are you doing,” Jack slurred as he tried to salvage what he could, still determinedly looking elsewhere.

“Me? How the hell did _you_ smuggle this in here?”

Surfacing finally from his alcohol, Jack scooted away from the newcomer in what was a clear sign of anger this time. “I got that,” he sniffed, “from an officer.”

“An officer just gave you a bottle of brandy? What kinda--”

“He's alright,” Jack was clearly not having this discussion. Or any discussion whatsoever, Python suspected as he watched Jack retreat further into the obscurity of his bunk.

It wasn't as if Python had never seen shellshock and other repercussions of the battlefield before, but they had all learned to accept those things, accept that they hit without warning. Basic conditioning to the circumstances, he supposed. But this was alien.

“Be like that,” he finally snapped and made his escape onto his own bed above Jack's, because he knew nothing else to say.

.

He might have dozed off for a while, but sleep was hard when he knew he'd be the only one getting it tonight. The thing was, Jack slept fitfully, and the lack of noise or movement from below tonight was uncanny. Like all those people who got too used to the chiming of the clock, Python couldn't sleep in this room in silence. _Pathetic._ Like the fact that his worry hadn't subsided in the least, whereas his curiosity was getting worse and worse.

Python didn't bother with the steps, simply made a calculated jump before he could climb onto Jack's half of the bed, sitting just close enough to be impossible to ignore. Hearing an irritated groan at his antics, he decided to run with it.

“So what exactly are you doing?”

“I told you to get lost.” It should have been relieving that Jack's voice seemed a bit sobered up, but Python couldn't see it that way. It was like the change went far beyond that – this new voice sounded toneless, blank.

He did his best to ignore it. “Sorry. Guess I can't leave well enough alone.”

In the dark he more sensed than saw Jack shifting aside to make grudging room, so he lay down in the vacated space, propping himself up on one elbow to keep some sort of distance between them. Silence reigned for another moment, interrupted when Jack suddenly spoke, “I told you about my mentor, right?”

“Yeah,” Python replied instinctively rather than from memory, because he had to rack his brains for that piece of information before it managed to hit home. All he recalled was a supposed WWII-era legend, with no name or face he could put to her – but he did remember the way Jack had talked of her back then with nothing short of total reverence.

It still didn't follow too well. Python shrugged, “Got your ass kicked again or what?”

“She's gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

There was a shaky sigh from Jack, half a sob. “I don't know. Just,” his breath caught again, “disappeared.”

“Yesterday?” _Yeah, keep asking,_ Python thought derisively even as he did, no other reaction on his mind. Jack's unbelievable shock alone was something he had not yet managed to process and even if he had, there wasn't much of a chance that anything he said would make it go away. Words weren't a hell of a lot in his world – or Jack's, for that matter – but if he couldn't say anything, what could he do?

What could _anyone_ do?

Stumped, Python lay beside his silent comrade to keep watch over him till dawn.

.

He'd fallen asleep.

On the bright side, so had Jack. Even though Python awoke with a start and both of them were normally light sleepers, one glance at his companion's face assured him that Jack hadn't been disturbed. There was some weak light in the room now, not long to go until reveille. Python remained where he was for a moment more, then got up quietly to dress. He wasn't going to see Jack all day. No sense in reliving the night's ordeal till then.

He did feel somewhat guilty as he shut the door from the outside – but if Jack couldn't cope with a day of routine, then his chances at getting past this were slim at best. Python had to give him more credit than that.

.

“Where the hell did you go?” The boot slammed against Python's locker and he was glad, so damn glad, that there was no one around to witness the proceedings. Jack glared at him, face inexplicably dark and thin, yet there was passion there as well when Python met his gaze. The contrast was almost frightening.

Taking a step back, Python realized he had nowhere to back away further, already hating himself for such a judgement lapse. Were this a real battle, he'd be in for an ass-kicking right now. It was a relief to think that in a real battle, he would never be facing Jack.

“I've had it with people,” Jack advanced, trapping him in place more firmly, “leaving. I wanted to say thanks.”

Python's heart plummeted. “How was I supposed to know—”

“You weren't, but I'll say it now. Thanks.” He drew back just one cautious bit.

“So, uh,” Python struggled for words; nothing enlightening would come. “You all right then?”

Jack's gaunt face would have been an answer in itself, even if he'd chosen to stay quiet.

“I'll live.”

“That's the important thing,” Python patted him on the shoulder in a gesture he intended to be comforting, but found his hands too unsteady for that. He embraced Jack quickly instead.

“Yeah, I guess.” Then they heard the sound of more people coming. “Catch you later.”

Python caught himself staring after Jack as he retreated, as if to compensate for the lack of a goodbye. Turning, he crammed what he could of his field junk into the locker and slammed the whole thing shut; the encounter had left him restless. He shook his head, took a few deep breaths, grabbed his rucksack and went ahead. If nothing else, he was pretty sure standing around never got a guy anywhere.

He found Jack much like he had last night: sitting hunched on the side of his bed. He wasn't busy with alcohol this time, though, holding what looked like a small photograph in its stead. Although Python could barely see what it featured, Jack hid it with a start as soon as he realized he was no longer alone in the room. But he looked Python's way afterwards, which seemed enough of an improvement.

Feeling bold, Python decided to join him. There seemed to be no protest – and then there definitely was none as Jack leaned against him, saying nothing. It wasn't the first time they'd had to huddle together somewhere, but Python felt attuned to it in a way he couldn't quite pinpoint. It was the first time, probably, that he could choose what support he'd provide.

He didn't even notice when the hand he had rested on Jack's torso in an attempt to be soothing had begun a subtle caressing motion – and by the time he did take note, it was too late to deny it. “Sorry,” he immediately blurted out, but to his surprise all Jack did was cover Python's hand with his, squeezing a little. They didn't look at each other. Somehow, there was no need to.

“You know, that's really stupid,” Python said without meaning it.

“You know me - always happy to get my ass kicked.”

Python laughed, a short uneasy sound. “Not by me.” Both his hands were under Jack's shirt now.

“Shut up,” the exhaustion was palpable in Jack's voice, but seconds later he kissed with a passion that got Python shivering harder than any cold.

From there on, he did his best to focus on Jack's eagerness, not on the way he grasped at Python like a drowning man at the proverbial straw. They undressed hastily, not bothering to pause to get rid of every single article – it was access that mattered right then, and that was achieved rather fast. Python cursed under his breath at the first touch of flesh on flesh, no other words coming. He let Jack kiss him again, near-frantic.

There was no aim and most certainly no method; they thrust against each other unchecked – afraid, or at least Python was, of the world closing back in if they stopped. Then he couldn't think at all anyway, just felt his mind slide along with his body, hypnotized.

It didn't last too long, but for a moment the sensation burned out everything.

“Damn,” Jack exhaled, the only discernible word between the harsh breaths as they wound down. Python buried his face in his comrade's neck.

They lay close for several minutes, holding each other without realizing. When Python finally broke the spell, it was more out of discomfort than anything else. Jack gave him a look that would've passed for one of mild panic, had it not been for the lethargy that still held them both. Python shook his head in what he hoped was reassurance, gently prying away Jack's fingers still hooked in his sweat-soaked undershirt.

“Sure is hot in here,” he said by way of apology, pulling the offending garment over his head to throw it aside without care. Jack smiled a little, but only appeared satisfied once Python had settled with him on the narrow bed again, worn out and silent.

There was snoring in the dark soon after, and Python knew he was going to stay.

.

.

December 1970

.

.

“I'm the Anti-Snake, and I am the one man who can break you!”

Big Boss could still do nothing but stare. It, of course, wasn't like he had never been unexpectedly ambushed by an ally turned foe, but the sheer difference between the Python he remembered and the soldier who stood before him was staggering. The last traces of familiarity only managed to amplify it.

He also knew that, no matter what reasoning he tried, these confrontations were nothing words could solve on their own.

“I've been waiting for this moment...”

The sudden chill was everywhere, Snake's fingers going numb on the handgun he clutched. Yet at the same time, that gave him an idea.

“The moment when we could meet each other face to face – on the battlefield, as enemies!”

And as Python made exhortations to death, Big Boss took the chance to ensure there would be enough ammo in the Mk22 to see this battle through. Python had saved him once. Now, Jack would return the favour.

They both looked up.

“Let's go!”

 _end._


	2. Icebreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A (much sillier) loose sequel set during Portable Ops, about the intricacies of reconciliation and the dangers of having liquid nitrogen in your never-properly-explained sneaking suit, as well as trolling Campbell in his own truck.
> 
> Also ice puns and thinly veiled meta, as you do.

01.

“Get out of there.”

Big Boss sighed, grudgingly moving into the other man's field of vision. There was nothing much in the back of the truck tonight – just a few (empty; he had checked) cardboard and other-material boxes in the corner, the makeshift bed on the side, and another box to serve as a table. Python was reclining on the bed, looking unamused.

“I never could sneak up on you,” Snake said, conciliatory.

“Why'd you do that now? I thought we had a truce.”

Snake pulled up another box to sit on. “Suppose it's out of nostalgia.”

He heard Python's low chuckle before the sound even made it out. No, some things never changed.

“What's that?”

Snake grinned a little before setting a stack of cards on what passed for their table, pleased when Python's eyes lit with recognition. “Just thought you might be game. Even if you still owe me from last time.”

Python laughed outright, sitting up straight to watch Snake shuffle the deck. Somehow, it didn't seem polite to point out that money was pretty much a lacking commodity for them now. “Here we are, playing poker in an unfriendly place again.”

“A real ancient tradition,” Snake affirmed, dealing out the cards. He was aware of the way Python followed his movements, alert, though it was most likely an automatism.

Meanwhile, Snake's attention was held by the suit. They'd managed to patch it up after the skirmish at the storage facility, an admirable feat considering their limited resources, as well as the fact that the bulk of the rescue effort had consisted of Snake trying like hell to keep the liquid nitrogen inside. That was two days ago. Python seemed comfortable in it now, so the current consensus was that the operation had worked. Although, as with everything, they would see.

They ended up folding the cards soon after, the game not quite as intriguing with no cash to throw in the mix. Python leaned back, “Where's everyone tonight?”

Snake feigned a shrug. “We don't always huddle together in our little truck, you know.”

In truth, he and his few closest men often did. But Snake had told them he wanted tonight to play catch-up with the old buddy, which they all seemed to have understood well enough to make use of the newly captured amenities around the patrol base. Campbell, of course, hadn't let him off without a hefty dose of sarcasm before taking temporary leave of his beloved truck.

“Hey, I'm not complaining,” Python stretched out on the bed again, visibly careful not to bump his head on anything. Snake wouldn't be able to explain why that awoke such concern in him for the world. “This here, that's downright luxury.”

Snake sat on the edge of the bed himself, holding out one hand above Python's torso, feeling the chill radiating off the suit, sharp and incessant. He waited a while longer, then slowly lowered his hand until it rested on the other's stomach. The look Python was giving him was at once curious and genuinely devoid of surprise of any sort.

“You just haven't had it with the frostbite, have you.”

Snake looked up, “You know me.” He did make a brief retreat after that, but only to plant his hands on either side of Python's body instead and lean down for a kiss, sliding one bent leg between Python's while he was at it.

It was strange, the cold emanating between them in contrast to the heat of Python's mouth, but Snake couldn't say that he disliked it. Even resisting the urge to just pull the other man into his arms, nitrogen suit be damned, the contact was more intense than he'd expected – than even seemed possible with the space between their bodies now. The kiss broke and Python gave a cry that had Snake wondering when he had last been touched without the intent to kill.

Then, suddenly, a hand against Snake's throat – not pressing particularly hard at all. Just enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Snake, quit it. I can't even--”

“What? You sure were enjoying yourself a while ago,” Snake shot back impatiently. “Think I can't handle a little cold?”

For a split-second the glare Python was giving him could have pierced metal. But it was, as soon became abundantly clear, caused by annoyance with Snake's typical rashness much more than any lack of enthusiasm for the proceedings.

“Same stubborn bastard as ever.” The hand relocated from Snake's neck onto his shoulder, inviting now.

“Likewise.” He smiled a little, then slithered down Python's body in blatant mockery of the codenames both of them had been assigned. It wasn't like the suit made an entire body impossible to touch – the bulk of it was wrapped around Python's torso, but the rest seemed manipulable enough. Discovering that was no different from surveillance-based tactics anywhere. Snake executed a light caress over the bulge that there indeed was in Python's crotch, finding the separate zipper easily. He pulled it down with deliberation, rewarded by a hiss as Python's entire body jerked in response.

“Don't bang your head,” was all the warning Snake gave him before getting down to business. All the warning and all the words.

Some things never changed.

02.

“Who needs a bed anyway,” Snake declared fervently to keep Python's spirits up, blowing out a cloud of cigar smoke into the night air. From where he was leaning against the side of the truck, Python chimed in with an unimpressed snort.

“And the exercise is good for you. Nothing like a little jog outside in the middle of the night.”

Snake chuckled – “Exactly!” – but when he looked his companion's way, some of his joviality was pushed aside by concern. “You could've warned me that might happen.”

“You mean you'd _listen_?” Python's tone betrayed that he knew the answer already.

“Well, maybe – the hell with it,” Snake snuffed out his cigar and leaned forward, but Python beat him to it; then again, the result was the same. It was a good thing neither of them was squeamish about the aftertaste of tobacco and other things, Snake mused detachedly as they kissed. On impulse he almost grabbed the back of Python's head, stopping himself at the last moment. He let the same hand linger on Python's neck, just above the cut of the suit. So useful, and yet so cumbersome.

“You seem alright now,” he murmured an inch or so from Python's lips when they parted.

“Yeah. Just a sudden temperature rise, is all it was.”

Snake had to fake offence at that. “So nothing to write home about?”

“That's where you're wrong,” and Python slapped him affectionately on the back. “Next time I'll have more of this liquid nitrogen going and all shall be well. Whenever that happens,” he added under his breath.

“And till then?”

“Till then, I'll entertain you.” Snake felt the hands tracing down his torso and shivered. “You know, just in case things like FOX and preventing nuclear catastrophe don't manage to keep you busy on their own.”

“You think that's funny--” Snake wanted to go on, but found himself suddenly out of breath. The fact that Python's rubber-encased hand had invaded the inside of his suit and was gripping him firmly underneath the layers might have had something to do with that.

“Not at all, comrade.” Python leaned closer, trapping him against the side of the truck, “Not at all.” The fingers working Snake's length didn't still, only seemed more determined with each subdued gasp their movements ended up provoking.

“H-hey...” Had the situation been any different, Snake would've done a double-take at the need in his voice – undisguised as he stood there, hips tilting to match Python's hand; he hoped more than anything right now not to get shortchanged again. As his ability to keep a clear head continued its flight out the window, Snake wrapped an arm around Python's waist. The cooling effect of the suit felt oddly pleasurable this time – better, at any rate, than the more intimate encounter with its contents he had experienced earlier. He felt Python's hand pick up the pace the slightest bit, making him moan out loud.

The hot breath on his ear was the icing on the cake. “Go on, _Snake_.”

Python's voice wasn't enhanced with ESP like Gene's, but in that moment it might as well have been: both Snake's body and mind obeyed in unison and he slumped against the other man, shuddering. If any sound had escaped his mouth, he wouldn't recall afterwards if he tried.

03.

“I told him not to dwell on it. I mean, it's not like this is the first guy we've lost--” But Python wasn't listening and brushed straight past Campbell towards where Snake was sitting, yet again according to the tradition of using boxes in place of furniture. Python was surprised Snake hadn't opted to crawl into the box instead, considering how good a job he was doing of blending into the background.

Undeterred, Python stood in front of him and wasted no time evading the subject, “What did I tell you about that and beating Gene?”

“That I'd never beat him if--”

“Yeah?”

“If I can't bear knowing my men's lives are in my hands,” Snake's voice trailed off contemplatively. Sensing his chance, Python crouched down and leaned towards him.

“You're their Boss. You better show them that.”

Snake met his look at last; if that was concession, it had to suffice. And when Python got up again, he followed suit.

 

 

[Bonus Track]

“You okay, Python?”

“I told you, get on with it!”

“Fine...you just never let me do this before, is all.”

“Times have changed-- ah, do that again--”

“This?”

“ _Damn..._ ”

Silence for several moments, marred only by unintelligible grunts and noises divorced from speech altogether.

Then, just silence itself.

“What the--”

“Campbell, now's not the time!”

“Boss, what the hell are you up to-- oh.” Campbell was peering in from the front seats, headphones tucked woefully around his neck instead of over his ears where they should have been, expression entirely devoid of compassion as he took in the scene. “I didn't say it was okay to do this in the truck!”

“You've got to be kidding me,” Python huffed and sprawled forward on the large box he was leaning on, glad his suit made the position more comfortable for once. Behind him, Snake was glaring daggers.

Campbell attempted to glare back, but didn't quite match in fierceness the look Big Boss could blast a person with when he was naked and involuntarily kept back from an engaging activity. It was enough to give Campbell an almost tangible sensation of his own ire shrinking away from his commander, so he just stuttered, “I-I knew you two had something going on, but is this really necessary?”

“Your little welcome-our-new-lady-recruits _party_ last night was?” Python countered.

Roy Campbell was a good at arguing, but that also meant that he could tell when he'd lost. “You know what, have it your way,” and he popped the headphones back into place. “But if someone else happens to come by, I didn't invite them!”

“Sure,” Snake let out a long-suffering sigh.

Python chuckled. “Seems like we'll have to work quickly, _Boss_.”

It turned out to be their easiest co-op mission of all time.


End file.
